


Oh Serpent Fair

by LiterallyThePresident



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Poetry, Fluff, I imagine 60s Crowley for this, Kissing, They’re both absolutely smitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyThePresident/pseuds/LiterallyThePresident
Summary: “Hey now.” he huffed, head butting his shoulder slightly, “I most certainly could be a poet if I felt so inclined. Especially since my muse is one so gorgeous as you.”“Oh?” Crowley smirked, pecking his lips, “Alright then, oh great poet, make me up a poem.”





	Oh Serpent Fair

Crowley felt his back protest slightly as he was pushed against the wall, but the minor ache was nothing compared to the angelic mouth pressing fervently to his, and Crowley found himself kissing back with equal desire, tangling his fingers in that snowy hair and pressing as close as he could to that familiar body. Aziraphale was dressed about the same as he always was, that is to say stuffy and boring, nothing at all like Crowley’s fashionable tastes. He wondered distantly what had gotten his angel all hot and bothered this time, perhaps the tight pants or the form-fitting black turtleneck. He’d not seen Aziraphale this needy since he’d posed as a prostitute to lure out and kill Jack the Ripper, and even then he’d had to work to get the angel’s iron control to waver.

Ah well. He was definitely not complaining.

“How in Heaven’s name,” Aziraphale panted, grabbing at his waist and mouthing at his jaw in a very distracting manner, “are you always so beautiful?”

“It helps to have a sense of fashion, love.” Crowley grinned, glasses slipping down his nose, revealing those serpentine eyes he knew got his angel all warm and fuzzy. Aziraphale made a needy noise and plucked the glasses from his face, tossing them aside and ducking in to claim Crowley’s lips again before he could protest. Crowley sighed into the kiss, his hands gripping Aziraphale’s face tightly as gave as good as he got. Aziraphale was warm and soft, and his kissing had improved significantly in the past few decades. Crowley was nearly dizzy with want by the time Aziraphale reluctantly pulled away, flushed and intense and gazing at Crowley with blue eyes filled with a desire that would put half of Hell to shame. It made Crowley’s shriveled heart stutter a little, to see such a look directed at him. To see Aziraphale look at him with open want. 

“My wonderful Crowley.” he murmured, a hand coming up to stroke his face tenderly, “My beautiful, exquisite serpent, every time I see you I find my breath taken away. And I don’t even need breath, so you can imagine the kind of stress I’m under here with you always looking so incredibly lovely.”

“Aziraphale.” he nipped at his lip, “Love the praise, as always, but I think we’re both far too old to be necking about like teens in a dark corner.”

“‘To me, fair friend, you never can be old’,” Aziraphale murmured, eyes so soft and loving it would make Hastur burst into flame, “‘For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still’.”

“Don’t you quote old Willy at me.” Crowley snorted, “I remember how he disliked you so much he based that Twelfth Night ponce Sir Andrew on you.”

“He did have a way with words, though.” Aziraphale smiled softly, “And many of them were for you, my dear. Which sonnets were about you again?”

“A great deal.” Crowley smirked, “Though bugger if I remember their names.”

“Perhaps I may beat him one day.” Aziraphale laughed, “I daresay my poetry rivals his.”

“Oh!” Crowley laughed uproariously at that, “Dear darling angel, you’re too funny. You and poetry have never mixed, you once got kicked out of a haiku club.”

“Hey now.” he huffed, head butting his shoulder slightly, “I most certainly could be a poet if I felt so inclined. Especially since my muse is one so gorgeous as you.”

“Oh?” Crowley smirked, pecking his lips, “Alright then, oh great poet, make me up a poem.” Aziraphale flushed, grumbling slightly as he took a moment to think. His concentration was not helped by Crowley’s roaming hands, but he managed alright. 

“From the moment I saw you in the newborn sunshine,” he started, his eyes locked onto Crowley’s, “with hair of fire and eyes of gold, I knew I’d be yours. To shield my newfound serpent fair from the first rain was less a courtesy than a promise. None shall harm you, as I am here. None shall mock or sneer, for I am here. Neither Heaven nor Hell can claw at my serpent fair, for I am here and my arms are a castle, and I the knight who fell in love with the dragon. My love is a snaking river, whose ruby tresses-“ Crowley couldn’t hold it in anymore, and his head bumped against the wall as he threw it back laughing. Aziraphale pouted, complaining about mocking a man’s creativity, but his hands were solid and his body warm and Crowley was so full of contentment and love he wondered if he’d discorporate from sheer happiness. 

“Come on then, angel, enough sap.” he grinned, jumping up slightly to wrap his lithe legs around Aziraphale’s waist, reveling in the way he flushed, the way his pupils dilated and breath caught, the way he stared at Crowley like there was no one else in the entire universe. A demon could get used to being so cherished, so adored. One thing was for sure, this demon was definitely spoiled on it.

“You’re going to ruin me, dear.” Aziraphale murmured, smiling fondly at him. Crowley smirked and leaned in, their foreheads pressing together, their breaths mingling.

“I already have, angel. And you love it.” he rumbled before claiming the angel’s lips once more, and the sound Aziraphale made as they pressed feverishly together was more beautiful than any celestial harmony.


End file.
